Sink or Swim
by peachyfuzzykeen
Summary: Jasper is drowning in desire for his best friend. Will he be able to keep afloat? Or will Edward let him sink?


**A/N: **

**This was an entry for Spring Squeezing Contest, it's just being continued.**

**If you just want the one shot, it's on the profile.**

**Thanks EvilPumpkin from PTB for editing this chapter**

**SM owns **

* * *

His mouth is so close to my ear, just like it always is when I dream of him. There is no space between us; he invades every aspect, every iota of my consciousness. He embraces me from behind, holding me tightly to his chest. I feel the softness of his cheek against mine and my heart nearly stops when he nuzzles in even closer to me. His breath is so warm on my body, though it effectively freezes me. Fear and excitement battle viciously in my heart and mind whenever he's near, but his current proximity has me on the sweetest edge. I want to push him. I need more. But, as always, I fear that I'll gain nothing from my efforts. So I try not to move, I try not to let him feel the quaking in my heart that threatens to expose me. But I feel that my efforts to hide are fruitless; my heartbeats echo in my ears and I'm afraid that he can hear the effect his presence has on my mutinous body.

But he knows, he must know. He has to know what he does to me, that the mere thought of him incites a savage chill that rides down my spine, enlivening every nerve within me in its wake. Everything about him drives me to extremes; his scent, his smiles, his eyes, what his hair looks like when he's been caught in the rain, the way he clutches his steering wheel when he drives me to school- the list is infinite.

His hands are arguably my favorite part of him this week. Even though there are various distinctions of his physique and personality that make him simply incomparable to anything on Earth. Every day that I spend with him, my mind accumulates countless examples of his perfection. Every day, I find a new reason to want to keep finding more evidence of his greatness. Whether I allow myself to become enraptured by his natural allurement is immaterial, he exists to be noticed and adored. I could never stand a chance at resisting this inevitability.

We're all alone in the deepest hiding spot my mind can conjure. This time his hands are in the spotlight of my fantasies and for damn good reason. His pale hands are covered in the softest skin I've ever felt. I marvel at how surprisingly unspoiled they are, considering how much he uses them and what he uses them for. It always seems that the entirety of his perfect skin is impervious to his careless roughness, because it has remained as flawless and unmarred as the day I first met him. Sometimes, mostly in class, my mind wanders to all the places on his skin that I've yet to see. I wonder if he has any birthmarks; I wonder if he has any beauty marks. Then, in typical fashion, my mind runs ahead to how badly I want to run my tongue over all his secret places.

One of his large hands is pressed hotly against me, resting heavily on the lowest part of my stomach. His long, slender fingers sprawl possessively over my bare torso; the contact of his naked form on mine gives me another sensation of that peculiar, paralyzing warmth. The fingers on his other hand are not dormant like the firm hand that holds me, but, instead, are restless.

As he touches me, I feel as if there are two sides of me, separated by a wavering line. There is a part of me that is always afraid to show my hand; the part that keeps me from taking what I want without fear or hesitation. And then there's this ever growing part of me, gnawing at my reservations like a captured animal in cramped cage. Waiting to escape, waiting to take control. It resents my hesitation, it rages at my inhibitions. And I truly don't know whether I'm more afraid of acting upon my desires or of what will happen if I try to restrain the visceral wanting that constantly lives inside of me.

The trail that two of his fingers make down the valley of my throat feels as heavy as stone, but feather light. They skim torturously slowly down to the prominent arches of my collarbones, pebbling the skin there in irrepressible excitement. I am paralyzed as he explores the expanse of my chest; his curious fingers seem to wander aimlessly, though he seems to know just where to touch me so that I sigh longingly.

His hands feel so new in every spot he touches me; however, his touch is not unknown to me. I know quite well how it feels to have his hands running sensually over my willing body- in fact, his touch is all I've dreamed of for months. My dreams are filled with all of the thoughts I only dare to acknowledge when I'm alone in bed, when my constant obsessions manifest into torrid dreams where we connect in a way that I am too afraid to initiate in reality.

He breathes a trail around the shell of my ear, a pattern I long for his tongue to trace. For the first time since he's appeared to me, my careful façade of calm is compromised as my knees almost give way from the overstimulation of his breath on my ear. His nose briefly rubs against the lobe, giving me the bare minimum of his touch, though it's always just enough. Just enough to make me tense in anticipation. Just enough to make me want to beg for more.

I know when he's about to speak, because he always licks his lips before he does so, and I suddenly feel the very tip of his tongue touch my ear briefly. There is nothing but silence; not even our breaths can be heard, they don't even exist. I'm not even sure if I _am_breathing anymore. When he speaks it's barely a murmur- so clear, but like it's coming from a farther distance than just behind me.

I focus solely on his voice, not the dark unknown that surrounds us, not even his tantalizing hands massaging my chest and stomach. At last, I hear the echo of my name; it's a faraway sigh on his lips.

"Jasper."

I'm not "Jazz" or "Jazzy", his best friend, his good buddy. I'm _Jasper_, _his _Jasper. I feel almost as if my body's density is reducing, as if I'm turning into vapor. The contentment I glean from his breathy sighs and his erotic caresses gives me a wonderfully weightless feeling. I revel in the warmth that resonates within me with every syllable of my name. Warmth, the kind that two bodies entwined can't even provide. The warmth and buoyancy is like being submerged in a heated pool.

I feel as if I'm swaying from the delirium of this feeling, but I know that he's holding me steady. The sweetest weakness falls over me as I slip deeper into the serenity of his voice and the strength of his arms around me.

My name begins to sound like a question, like he's calling to me, and even though I don't want to disturb this moment of peace I suddenly feel the need to answer him.

I try to speak, but my thoughts and voice have become imprisoned. I can't speak, I can't think. I'm trying so hard to get my thoughts together, trying so hard to make my mouth form words.

His voice is elusive as he continues to say my name, like smoke in a dark room, like mist in the rain. It trails off like an unanswered question as I struggle to speak. Why is it so hard to get my thoughts together, why is it so hard for me to break my silence?

My confusion turns swiftly into panic as, little by little, parts of me begin to feel leaden and instead of being immersed in contentment and lightness, I am tensing with heavy dread. I fight with myself as if wading through quicksand, every part of me feeling obstructed and hindered.

As I struggle to release myself from my own binding, his voice starts to fade away from me; the imprint of his touch feels as if it's sliding off my skin like a raindrop. My eyes have remained closed the whole time, so when I open them to look for him, he's not there. I immediately feel his absence, as if I was standing in the wind and it all of a sudden changed direction. I no longer feel the force of his body holding mine, and I know why.

I am literally frozen. I can't move, and the chill of his absence envelopes me completely as I accept defeat. The darkness around me further constricts me; the oppressiveness of the quiet blackness seems too massive now that I'm alone in it. The changes of my body since its release from his make me feel awkward and uncomfortable. Disappointment crashes over me in heaping waves that threaten to drown my heart as I realize that he's left because I took too long to speak up.

I was too late.

* * *

I begin to wake up. I begin to feel again. I register my head on my cool pillow, my tangled sheets snaked around my legs and hips. I feel a cold sting on the exposed skin of my stomach from where my shirt has ridden up but I barely register that I'm back in my room and awake because I'm too busy trying to hold onto the memory of my dream before it fades with the phantom voice that still haunts me.

I don't open my eyes, I just lie back, feeling the tiny pinpricks in my legs and arms as my body becomes more alert. I feel as if I can see the dark space where my mind once was. I can even feel the oppressive silence.

But I can't seem to grasp the exact way it felt when his strong arms held me, when his fingers casually claimed me. I wring my thoughts, even pinching my eyes closed with the effort of trying to remember how it felt to hear him whisper my name, but I know it's a waste of time to try. The voice is gone and it's taken its memory along with it.

The sigh I heave is filled with self-loathing; I'm so tired of having the same pathetic dreams. Don't get me wrong, a recurring dream where you're encumbered in a tiny dark space, where only you and the sole subject of your thoughts are completely alone together, isn't exactly the worst dream I could have.

But the inevitable letdown I face upon waking, that's the shit I'd rather avoid.

I wish I could say that I want to stop fantasizing about him, but in truth, I would give a lifetime's worth of dreams just to have him possess me the way I need him to, whenever I close my eyes, even if I know it's a lie.

So I dream about the day he'll be with me the way I want him to, even though it'll never come. Then I wake up internally bitching about how that day will never come, before I succumb to the overpowering urge to alleviate the pain in my dick so that I can forget the pain in my heart.

Compared to many sexual fantasies, I suppose you could say that my dreams are probably a little on the bland side. I have no idea why I have these dreams filled with chaste intimacy and closeness; it's the farthest thing from my thoughts when I'm awake.

When I'm awake my thoughts are filled with the raunchiest, most salacious fantasies any teenager has the right to think of. In my daydreams, his tender touches on my body turn into frenzied groping; his hands aren't shy as he roughly grabs my hair as I wrap my mouth around his-

At the turn of my thoughts, my hands have found their way down my thighs, stroking my aching erection. Ugh, if I'm gonna get myself worked up I might as well put it to good use.

I decide to kill two birds with one stone and jack off in the shower, but I barely have one eye open when I notice a tall dark figure standing at the foot of my bed.

"The _fuck_?" It's really all I can manage to shout through the hand that immediately covers my mouth. My eyes widen so much that I don't know how they'll ever close, but they do manage to narrow in confusion when I notice that it's Edward Cullen hovering over me at 1am.

Now, normally I'd be fucking thrilled for this outcome, but as it stands, I'm wearing an old Mario Brothers t-shirt with a pair of black briefs, out of which my dick is currently trying to rip its way free. This could get awkward.

I immediately start thrashing in bed to get his hand off of me, the quicker to start in on him for nearly giving me a coronary. The idea of him in my room is too much to cope with, let alone to be sort of thankful for…so I go with a familiar feeling: irrational defensive bullshitting.

"You _asshole_!" I whisper scathingly.

And then I notice that he's laughing. I realize with mortification that I must have looked like a dying fish struggling to get away from him, "Sorry man, I thought you heard me." It might be that I've just woken up, but I have to say he doesn't sound very sorry. The smirk on his face adds to that theory.

"Heard you?" I'm not even sure if he can understand me at this point; my voice has gone way past shrill. It probably sounds a little ridiculous, like I'm struggling with puberty or something. But this isn't the time to be self-conscious around him… I have the rest of forever for that. "I was in a dead sleep; Stevie Wonder could see that from Mars!"

"Well, you _were _saying my name," he supplies through snorts. I freeze.

Christ on a cracker, he'd heard me. He'd heard me saying his _name_.

"Oh, right. Sorry, I did hear you," Okay, damage control. What can I say to my best friend when I've been caught saying his name in my sleep? At least I wasn't moaning it this time. "Er, uh….umm, I just couldn't believe it was you at first…you surprised me?" Okay, I'm not the best at lying, but hopefully the sleep in my voice can be misinterpreted for confused innocence.

"All the times I've climbed up here and now you're surprised?" His tone is somewhat skeptical, but still playful enough to not sound totally suspicious. It's true, he's climbed up in my room late at night before, but most of the time I was awake and watching the window, eagerly waiting for him to crawl into my room.

_Annnnd_ back to defensive. "What, am I on trial here now? You're the one who's breaking and entering!" He moves closer to me and leans against my wall. I sit up in bed and try to pull the covers more securely over me…the excitement of seeing Edward has in no way distracted me from my _excitement._

I hate that I always sound like I'm nagging him. I'm always yelling at him but it's more out of self frustration. Do you know how hard it is to be on your guard constantly? The tension kills me on a daily basis and the infuriating part is that he has no clue at all that he's the reason I'm so crabby. It hadn't always been like this; _I_hadn't always been like this. But ever since I met him, he's just brought out the strangest and strongest emotions from me. So, occasionally, though I'm not proud of it, I kind of snap at him.

"Well the window _was _open." He shrugs as he begins thumbing through the magazines I'd left on my nightstand. It isn't even just an excuse, it's an accusation. He's pinning this on me!

"Since when does an open window mean you should climb into it?" My eyebrow is raised but he's not even looking at me; just smirking adorably as he picks up the first magazine, which is probably my subscription to _Monthly Motors_. Recently I'd become obsessed with buying a motorcycle.

"Had the window been closed, it may have given me more pause." His tone is mocking because I know he doesn't pause for anything, it's not in his nature at all. Out of the two of us, he's the most impulsive but it's a part of his charm. Edward's the type of guy who just is. He doesn't overanalyze like I do, he just goes with the flow. I may be biased, but that saying could have been created for him.

"So wanting fresh air is a crime in this town?" My argument is dying as I watch him in the muted moonlight streaming from my open window. I feel myself slowly calming, and I find it so ironic that the one person in the world who has the unknowing power to make my heart race also has the power to pacify me as well. I don't know where he finds the patience to deal with my mood swings.

"Honestly Jasper, I thought you'd be awake by now. You're always up late or up early." He sighs as he turns on my light, effectively blinding me. I hiss at the stab of pain in my retinas and rub my fists in my eyes. When I can finally see again, he's looking at me with this stupid smile on his face and then he's just sort of staring at me.

I look down to notice that my blanket is covering most of my chest, but my legs are left completely exposed all the way up to the thigh. I don't even want to think about the tragedy that is my hair right now, unless Edward wants to see a grown man cry.

"For the love of god, could you turn around or something?" I fire at him as I jump out of bed, wrapped in my blanket like I'm some goofy Greek statue or something.

He turns around anyway, but he still asks me, "What for?"

"I'd like to put some clothes on?" I ask sarcastically as I nervously look for any piece of clothing at this point, but it's hard because in my panic I've managed to wrap myself in this blanket like the finest burrito, so when I move I look a little like Cousin It. I seriously can't win for losing here.

I should probably mention that the shirt I'm wearing is Edward's. He'd left it over when he visited me after practice. I could lie and say that I'm wearing it because I missed laundry day, which is pretty plausible in any young guy's case. But sometimes, I wish that I could just admit that I wore it because it smelled like him and that I loved being surrounded by a part of him…even in cotton form.

Maybe he won't notice?

I quickly wiggle loose from my blanket bindings and seize a pair of pants hanging over my chair. "Dude, I've seen you in the locker room," he shrugs and sits on my bed, beginning to read my magazine. I'm just staring at him, one leg in my pajama pants and I nearly fall face first onto the floor. He rolls his eyes and sighs like he's impatient. "Just grab some pants or something."

I'm completely nonplussed over what he's just said. I feel like there's a little guy in my head running in circles, screaming and throwing confetti. But is that the right reaction? He's seen me in the shower but that doesn't mean he's _noticed_ me in the shower. _Seen_ and _noticed_ are two very, very different things. Is it possible, even by the slightest chance, that he liked what he saw? Is it possible that he may be peeking over at me as much as I peek at him? But I would have seen that…or maybe I didn't _notice _that.

I'm standing here with my pants around my ankles, one leg in and one leg out. Just staring at him as he casually flips through the pages, it's so quiet that every ruffle of them seems louder than usual. He's sitting on my bed, right in front of me, but he feels miles away. I'm filled with this indecision that he'll never understand, feelings that he'll never know. He's never felt so far away before. I feel this overwhelming urge to ask him something, but I don't even know what to ask. But I know that I could ruin something pretty important to me by asking something really weird.

See what I mean by constantly being on my guard?

I yank up my pants quickly and mumble, "Whatever." It's my go-to, really.

As soon as I'm fully clothed he looks up at me and suddenly grins, "So, how 'bout it?"

I roll my eyes before playing along. "How about what?"

I hadn't thought it was possible for him to smile any wider, but he does, jumping off my bed excitedly. "Making a little mischief?" His intent matches the tiny gleam in his green eyes. And here we go.

Before I came to Forks, Edward had never seen nor had he ever read the _Harry Potter_series. When I first met him, my awkward jokes that referenced the series would fall depressingly flat, and it was then that I found out that he wasn't 'into that stuff'. That just wouldn't do, so I ended up inviting him over to watch all the movies with me. I was on tenterhooks the entire time; watching him watch one of my favorite things was oddly thrilling, it was a part of me that I was showing him, and I craved this smallest piece of his acceptance.

The first two films didn't trigger much more than amusement and polite interest from him, so as I grew steadily more disheartened by our lack of_another_thing in common, I just knew he wasn't going to like the third installment. To my surprise he immediately took interest in one aspect of the series which before, had seemed quite innocuous to me. He was completely intrigued by The Marauder's Map, and from then on whenever we were alone, he'd reference the map before he'd propose some form of teenage rebellion.

To the sane mind, his interest in _Harry Potter _really wouldn't matter in the grand scheme of things, but in my infatuated teenage mind it meant that I was meant to suck his dick…or whatever.

When I first moved here from Texas, I hadn't anticipated making any friends. I hadn't really had many friends in the first place; I was always too introverted to keep anyone's attention for too long. And to be honest I hadn't really wanted to keep up with all the other kids' bullshit, we just never really meshed.

So when I met Edward and he was the complete opposite of me, I was surprised at how intriguing he was. I was surprised that his joking jock exterior didn't make me want to mock him with sarcasm, surprised at how his innocent friendliness broke through my jaded indifference so easily.

We were biology partners, but in the span of a month we taught each other more things than Mr. Banner ever had. I introduced him to books, movies and music. He introduced me to girls, parties, and pranks. I didn't really like those things, but he made them so appealing.

In no time at all, we were able to truly see one another for what we were and it was something I'd never experienced before. He showed me he wasn't some stereotype; in contrast to his wildness and his impulsiveness he was actually quite an abstract thinker and always willing to see every angle of anything we talked about. When we'd hang out, just us, he just had this calmer side. I'd like to say I brought it out in him, but that's probably wishful thinking.

He's smart, funny and an all around nice guy- add in his good looks and it's no wonder that he's the most popular guy in school.

About two months after finally making a real friend, I slowly came to terms with my _unfriendly_ feelings.

Which brings me to the running joke that is my life.

"What kind is it now?" I look over at him, waiting. I should have known there was a reason he'd be here at this time of night, some type of scheme.

"C'mon, Jazz." Is he _pouting _at me? My blood pressure can't handle all this. I'm simply too turned on to look at him, it's embarrassing. I turn to the window to 'deliberate'.

"It's one in the morning, what could we _possibly _do?" I need him to distract me from pushing him down onto my bed and sucking his teasing bottom lip slowly with my own.

And as if the universe wasn't already in a plot to get me to come in my pants, he begs me, "_Please._"

I have to stop this before I snap. "Well, we are reasonably young and stupid…what the hell." It's as close to an agreement as he's going to get out of me.

"Great, let's get going." He's grinning again, and I roll my eyes at myself to tamp down the warm feeling in my stomach that's a reaction from knowing that I can make him smile at me like this.

I sigh as if it's some burden to spend time with him. "Fine, I just need to grab a shower and change." I turn towards my bathroom door, but he rushes in front of me.

"You really don't need to-" He's being weird about this; it should be my first clue that he's up to something. But at the moment, I'm mainly focused on escaping to the confines of my shower so I can wash off and calm down a little…and possibly jerk off quietly.

I try to step around him, but he puts his hand on my shoulder, and my heart and right arm give a little spasm. I've really gotta get in that shower. I look at my shoulder and back away from him before I do something stupid. "Edward, it'll only take a minute."

"But-" Before he can persuade me to do otherwise, I manage to get by him and continue forward. I seriously have to have a few minutes to collect myself. I'm completely on edge. How is it that he can't see what he does to me?

"Really quick!" I call over my shoulder as I speed walk to the bathroom for dear life. The door is almost closed but I still hear him mumble.

"Isn't that my shirt?"

Fuck.

* * *

The stars watch us move silently through the night, peeking from the inky sky as we ride through my sleeping neighborhood, down the street, away from my house. There is no moon out tonight so the clusters of tiny celestial lanterns are the only light we have, aside from the reflectors in the bike ahead of mine. It's an unseasonably warm night- for Forks, anyway. Winter has barely appeared in Forks, being pushed forward by an early spring; the cold weather sneaking away, before we could get used to it. It's a first for this town, I've been told. Usually the tall trees would don thick coats of freshly fallen snow, rooftops replaced with glittering bright snow, the fields crystallized in frozen dew and you could barely step outside your house without getting your ankles grabbed by thick fluffy snow.

I never thought I could become excited over weather, but the way Edward would describe the frozen river that stood still behind his house, the cold fog that hovered in the usually verdant forests, and the earthy hickory smell of burning wood that wafted from his chimney had me secretly counting the days to the first snowfall.

All cold weather had completely bailed after the Christmas holidays and the climate became warmer and warmer with no determined point of stopping. It was now the first weekend in March, and the entire town had completely thawed. Coming from a dreadfully arid desert town, I had been a little excited to see the beautiful blue blackness of a cold winter's night. I had wanted to feel the blistering cold bite at my cheeks and nose, I had wanted to wear a ridiculously heavy coat and scarf as I struggled through the snow as if I lived in Siberia.

That never happened.

For most of the winter, we'd gotten clumps of flurries, lobbed down from pale grey skies. No snow days for us; we had been lucky just to see an inch or two. Roads looked like they'd been layered with torn cotton balls, blackened by cars; the mix of salt and slush on the sidewalks resembled dirty oatmeal; the gutters of houses looked like they'd been stuffed with melting vanilla dirty goose down, and most of the awnings were covered in crying icicles.

Needless to say, I found "winter in Forks" severely lacking in wonderment.

Maybe I've jinxed it.

"Pedal faster!" Edward whisper-yells from up ahead. I've been following his red-hoodied form for a few blocks.

What's his damn hurry?

"I'm going as fast as I can; this is a ten-speed, not a Harley!"

"We wouldn't have to rush if you hadn't _had _to take a shower!" he complains, but I was not about to leave the house smelling and looking a sweaty mess. I just hope I don't catch a cold; my hair is still a little damp.

"Where are we going anyway?" I know it's pointless to ask, but I am so curious as to what appointment we could have at half past one in the morning.

"If I tell you, you won't wanna come." His laugh is carefree on the wind and warmer than my sweatshirt.

My thoughts are so loud that I feel like he can hear them; they tell him that's the stupidest thing he's ever said because I would follow him anywhere. The words are true and sit in my head, on the edge of my tongue, so I hurry to contradict them. "You're probably right."

* * *

He's leading me to the very edge of town, but I'm not worried because we don't have a whole lot of town anyways. We've been going for about 45 minutes now. My butt is numb and I'm getting a cramp in my thigh. I'm not exactly the most athletic, not like Edward is. He's zooming down the street like he's Lance Armstrong or some shit, and I'm struggling not to let him hear me huffing and puffing behind him.

"Is it any _farther_?" I don't know what's worse, the fact that I'm whining, or whining breathlessly.

"Relax, we're almost there." His voice is completely unaffected by our bike riding. I'd be jealous if I wasn't so obsessed with him.

He said that ten minutes ago and we haven't even begun to slow down. He's been moving straight ahead for most of the trip, only making two short lefts before resuming a steady path to who-the-fuck-knows where. He hasn't said a word, just keeps peddling swiftly through the street, the only noise between us being the quiet ticking of our bike chains and the rolling of tires against the wet road.

The air has grown steadily warmer- not drastically so, but enough for me not to see the wisps of my breath on the air anymore. My hands are frozen though; I've always had cold hands, and they feel as if they're soldered to the handles of my bike.

I have no clue as to where we're going. I've stopped guessing, and I know asking is futile. He hasn't said a word; hasn't even changed his position on his bike, except only to quickly check if I'm still behind him. We pass by small neighborhoods, our school and tiny shopping centers. The town seems to have shut down completely; there are no signs of life as we quietly ride around town. There are no cars on the road with us; it makes me feel like we're the only two people awake in the world. That fact fuels my desire that wherever we are going, it'll be just the two of us there.

I try to distract myself by looking into the sky- I'm not worried about running into Edward, because that would mean I'd have to be fast enough to do that…I'm really not. I watch the stars, something that I find myself doing a lot more often than I'd like to admit, because I know I'm not simply stargazing, but wishing. I've always been a bit of a cynic about wishing. Never truly hoped for anything either; hoping and wishing were things for people who wanted things, wanted change. I never wanted anything, not really. I'm a grounded person; I keep a firm hold on reality. I don't waste time dreaming about a different life, I just live the one I have. I always figure that if you can't get something you want, there's no point in making yourself miserable by hoping for it.

In the past six months that I'd known Edward, I'd come to notice just how complacent I had gotten about life. But when I'm around him, I realize that I don't want a stale life, that I actually want something more. I can't define what more is, but it definitely has something to do with the way I feel when I'm with him. I want the permanent rush of excitement when I see him standing outside of a classroom door, or even just the race of heat that covers my body when we're alone in his room.

But mostly, I just wish I could tell him this stuff. I can't deny any of it, but I'm so sick of holding back. So, when I'm in bed alone, I completely force away all the impossibilities of what I want in life and I find that I'm quite the dreamer, wishing for things that can never be. I look out my window and watch the sky until I fall asleep, and even though I'm aware that miracles don't happen, I still fall into dreams where they do.

But I can't shake my pessimism forever; reality can only be ignored for so long, so even as I stare at the heavens I sometimes have to acknowledge that I'm more likely to count every star in the sky than for one of them to grant me any wishes about the only person I've ever dared to wish for.

My eyes fall from the sky, onto him, just in time to see him make a sharp right around the corner. His increase in speed makes me feel like we're getting closer to his destination.

"C'mon, this way." He turns a little to make sure I'm still following him. His voice is overflowing with stifled excitement, and I'm not sure whether to be amused by his exuberance or wary of what is causing it. I go with a little bit of both and follow him towards what looks like an old park. But there are no swing sets, slides or sandboxes. Just two lonely park benches and a busted-looking jungle gym. The playground is cast in an eerie glow by only one working lamppost wedged in the corner; the other light is shattered with shards of glass at its feet.

It's kinda creepy.

He completely ignores the entrance into the park for a crooked path to the far left. The sign at the start of the path looks like it says 'Bike Path', but it's so bent out of shape, I can't really be sure. I don't recognize where we are, but the surrounding trees and flora make me slightly claustrophobic. He's going faster down the trail now, it looks like he's practically racing to get where we need to be. It's difficult to follow him now due to his speed and the overhang of trees and brambles that hit my arms and face, effectively slowing me down. The area is growing darker as we head deeper through the encroaching forest; I can't hear anything but the wind that's suddenly picked up and the rattling of our bikes dashing down the trail.

Further and further we go, the density of the trees making the night impossibly dark. I'm a little nervous but I continue to follow Edward. I'm completely at a loss as to where we could be going until I see him swerve to a stop at the very end of the trail. He drops the bike to the ground and walks forward a few feet, then stops. I can't see what he's staring at, but he's completely still. As soon as I get close to him, I jump off my own bike and hurry toward him to see what he's looking at.

My mind grinds to a halt when I get near him and look forward. There's nothing in front of him but a broken bridge- the other half is completely gone and just rubble in the river beneath where it once was. It almost looks like an unfinished painting. I'm about to ask him what the fuck is going on when he looks over to me and speaks.

"Okay, now we walk."

"Walk?" Is he crazy? The only thing we could possibly do is turn left and continue on around the trail, or turn back altogether, "Walk _where_?"

He laughs at my tone, which is bordering on panicky, and proceeds to our right where there's a small break in the trees; he gestures to it with a flourish. He can't expect us to go into the _woods_? But his smile completely suggests that's exactly what the fuck he expects us to do.

He rummages in his pocket and pulls out a long, thin silver flashlight; brandishing it like a torch, he starts to go forward but notices that I haven't followed him.

"Jazz?" He calls to me; his voice is shocked, like he can't believe I'm not following along behind him.

I'm not moving from this damn spot. My arms are crossed, my voice is stern. "No way, you never said we were going in the woods."

"Wait, you're not _scared _are you?" He's not making fun of me. Even in the dark, I can almost see the concern in his eyes because I can hear it in his voice. He steps away from the woods towards me, but I don't want him to know how true his accusation is.

"Of course not." I try to appear nonchalant but I don't think I'm doing a good job of it. He ignores my denial and stands over me; he's a good four inches taller than my 5'10'' so I feel sort of small under his gaze. The darkness is so heavy around us that the only thing that burns brighter than his flashlight are his eyes as they bore into my own.

"Because you know I wouldn't let something happen to you." Fear and chilliness, that's what I'd blame my shaking on if he ever asked me. But the truth? His hand on my shoulder both emboldens me and makes me shake to the soles of my shoes. I can almost feel my mind changing, making a decision in his favor.

I hate how when we do normal things, it feels surreal to me. It's like my dreams are the way things should be and that hanging out with him is just strange.

My sigh is filled with self-resentment and defeat, but he merely takes it as acceptance of his promise and his plans. Now his mega watt-smile joins in with his eyes, brightening his shadowy form.

"Great, now c'mon!"

I feel like checking my forehead because I definitely feel like someone stamped the word 'Sucker' on there. I can't believe I'm going to be traipsing around the woods in the middle of the night, I might as well deliver myself to Jason Vorhees and save him the trip.

We don't walk very long, ten minutes maybe, but soon we're standing in a clearing surrounded by, you guessed it, more trees. It's like we're in the very heart of the forest, enclosed in this circle. He's still not saying anything; I don't even try to entertain myself with guesswork of his mind. But I still wonder why he's stopped; I wonder why we're here.

I've about had it with the suspense by now. I walk over to him determined to get some answers when he looks over at me with this smirk, and I'm momentarily stunned.

What am I doing?

It happens so fast that I'm not even sure when it does, but he suddenly strips off his big red hoody, his white shirt comes off along with it. In an instant, I'm staring at the deep line of his spine in his alabaster back as he drops his clothes at the bottom of a nearby tree. Immediately, he's working his jeans off and I'm wondering if I'm conscious right now.

He looks up and laughs as he hurries to take his clothes off, "You should probably do the same, Jasper." The way he says my name echoes in my head, which is completely hollowed out by blunt confusion. I feel completely paralyzed as he stands in front of me in only his boxers.

Did he bring me here to…no. _No_. Absolutely not. He did not bring me here for _that_. I refuse to even wrap my mind around the possibility, even if it's happening right before my eyes. There just has to be an explanation for this.

My thoughts churn sluggishly as I watch, painstakingly, as his fingers play with the lining of his boxers, and before I can blink, they're falling to the forest floor with a resounding swish that makes me almost fall over. The silence that follows is cut off by his deep laugh.

And there he is, in the blackness, standing naked before me. I have no idea how this happened, it's just not sinking in. I refuse to look below his neck because I'm really trying to calm down and I know that seeing his cock won't help with that.

My head is floating from the impossibility of this moment; my lungs are burning from lack of oxygen. I seriously can't tell if this is a dream or reality and it's scaring the crap out of me. Have my erotic daydreams gone too far? Have the limits of my imagination finally soared off into oblivion?

But I can feel the wind at my throat, moving my hair and prickling my skin. I feel the dampness of the wet earth beneath my shoes, the pain in my throat from holding onto frenzied questions. This has to be real. I brace myself onto a nearby tree, partly to double check if it's real and partly to keep from losing my balance. I want to ask him why he's gotten naked, I want to be rational about this, but I'm afraid to speak.

If it's what I won't even dare to think, I don't know what I'll do. It's ironic really, how unprepared I feel. The past six months, my existence has proven itself poised and ready to jump at the sheer chance to be given a naked Edward. But now, it's like I've never even dreamed of it. He's standing naked, not five feet from me and I'm just gaping like a codfish.

Is this what it feels like to get what you want, to finally have what you've been wishing for so unexpectedly? I've never gotten everything I've ever wanted, let alone so quickly. But in the rare times I thought I could, I was prepared for extreme joy, preparedness, hell, even a massive stiffy, but not this feeling of complete bewilderment. I never thought it was possible to feel so much at once; it's overwhelming.

I'm really not handling this well at all, and at this point, he's staring at me like I'm having a stroke. He might be right in the assumption. I try to collect myself; deep breaths, steady deep breaths.

He stares at me. In the limited light of his flashlight I can see his eyebrows furrow together. He looks confused...he's standing naked in front of me, and_he's_the one confused.

"Just get naked and go with it, Jazz." It's like he's pulled the thought directly from my own head. I desperately want to, god knows I do, but my body refuses to receive the signal. I'm standing stock still in front of the naked man of my dreams as he beckons me to join in this spontaneous nude and freaky moment; it's through sheer will to live that my heart hasn't stopped beating. Its frantic pounding in my ears is my only proof of this.

There is nothing between us but silence and apprehension. His eyes lock onto mine, and our breaths appear to be oddly synchronized. It's like he's daring me to do something, willing me to say something.

Then he shakes his head and gives me this smile, like he knows I won't do anything…just before he takes off into the trees.

His absence triggers my immediate response to chase him. "Wait, where are you going?" My voice is hoarse, but sounds so loud bounced back from the trees onto my ears. I don't understand anything right now; I just know that if I lose sight of him, here and now in this living day dream, I could fall apart.

He disappears through another slight break in the trees and I hurry after him…this is so fucking weird. I don't even have time to process feelings of disappointment that he didn't stay and prove himself wrong, that I would take off my clothes and reveal more than just my naked body to him. It's just like a dream, one I've had so many times before. I follow him but I don't have to run far, I stop immediately as I see his naked form and the overwhelming idea that I could actually be dreaming renews itself in every cell of my body.

When I finally catch up to him, I notice that he's facing a lake, and that the lake is surrounded by people.

Naked people.

* * *

**A/N:**

**Okay! What do we think?**

**Next half will be up soon, or you can read it from the one shot.**

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